


Power of Prayer

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s02e08 Shibboleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-04
Updated: 2006-02-04
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Post-ep toShibboleth, based on something Toby said that I have a feeling goes deeper... as Mme. Tuskes would say, "Derriere les mots" ... behind the words. So here goes.





	Power of Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

TITLE: Power of Prayer 

AUTHOR: Kasey 

SUMMARY: Post-ep to "Shibboleth", based on something Toby said that I have a feeling goes deeper…as Mme. Tuskes would say, "Derriere les mots"…behind the words. So here goes. 

RATING: PG, mild violence

 

I prayed the bell wouldn't ring that day. Ironic, since it was the idea of prayer that had gotten me into this mess.

What my parents were thinking, sending a little Jewish boy to a predomenately Catholic school, I never knew. Maybe it was to prepare me to convert in case there was another Holocaust or wave of anti-semitism.

But, whatever the reason, I was stuck there, waiting and dreading the ring of the recess bell.

It rang at the same time as always, and my fourth grade teacher shooed us all out. Rather, she shooed ME out, everyone else was running to the playground like the Hounds of Hades were after them. But I knew what butt-kicking awaited me as soon as I set foot on the blacktop.

And so, feet dragging, I walked down the hallway and out the door to the playground. Surely enough, standing in a huddle, there they were. My tormentors. "Wellllll…" the tallest, their ringleader, a guy in my class named Mike, said. "He shows up again. I thought you were smarter than that, Ziegler." The pure evil in his smirk was immeasurable. His henchmen gathered around me and dragged me off to a more secluded area of the playground. "Still the anti-Christ, are we?"

"No -"

"Then why don't you pray?"

"I do…"

"Then show us." I knew my prayers in Hebrew would do nothing but fuel their fire. "C'mon, let's hear you pray. Since we're felling generous, we won't even make you say it in Latin." Mike kicked me in the stomach, causing me to double over, another kick forced me to my knees. "There we go! Let's hear it, Ziegler!" When I didn't respond, he punched me in the jaw, and I fell flat against the pavement, gasping in pain. "Maybe if you prayed to a REAL God, that wouldn't happen," he said in a sickly sweet voice. "Our work here is done," he said to his followers, who snickered. "Worthless Jewish trash, oughta be sent back to Auschwitz," he sneered as he walked off, leaving me alone in my agony.

 

The End

 

 


End file.
